


#4

by Fatale (femme)



Series: domestic 'verse [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi, baby stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4783547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just screwing around one night. Wrote this. I'm brilliant at titles.</p>
    </blockquote>





	#4

**Author's Note:**

> Just screwing around one night. Wrote this. I'm brilliant at titles.

 

Peter's exhausted, has to be up in 4 hours for work, and he's pretty sure he has baby poop smeared somewhere on his forehead.

Sofia's wailing pitifully, lower lip trembling, tears leaking from the corners of her huge blue eyes.

"Look," Peter says conversationally, "I get it, this sucks. The wipes are cold and you smell pretty bad, but that’s life. I mean, you plan your life, everything goes more or less like you expect and then suddenly, you wake up, you have a beautiful wife, a beautiful husband, and you're scraping poop off a baby at 3 am in the morning. Who knows how these things happen?" He tosses the dirty diaper in the pail, slides a clean one on. Sofia hiccups, pumps her fists in approval. "Right? Life is just bouts of exploding diarrhea that happen in-between the moments you plan for."

He snaps her sleeper closed, scoops her up. She yawns, jams her entire fist in her mouth. He hadn't thought much about kids, had actually discarded the idea years ago when El found out it wouldn't be possible for her, and that was that. No regrets, no looking back.

But Neal couldn't keep it in his pants, Alex wasn't prepared for motherhood, and Neal became something to Peter that he hadn't even known he was looking for. And here Peter is at the ass-crack of dawn, ruminating on the meaning of life with an infant.

The low hum of contentment settles in, deep in his belly, as he sways side to side, listening to the sounds of Sofia's soft, even breaths. Carefully, he lays her down in the crib, leans down to brush her downy head. "Good night, my darling," he tells her, and leaves the room carefully.

His bedroom is dark and cool, and Peter can only barely make out the shape of Neal and El on the bed, wrapped around each other, brown hair mingling on the pillows. Peter has to clean the shower drain twice as often now, buy all of his cheese from the fancy deli that Neal favors because Neal Caffrey's too good to eat cheese that comes in shrink wrap, and the dry cleaner has "lost" all of Peter's favorite ties, including the orange paisley one.

“Scoot,” Peter says, tapping Neal’s shoulder. Neal grumbles, and slides over to make room for Peter without opening his eyes. Peter settles down between Neal and El, feels Neal's arms steal around him, followed by loud snuffling in his ear.

"God, Peter," Neal says, scrunching his face up, "what's that smell? You smell like a public restroom at a trucker convention on Tex-Mex night. Ugh." He rolls away from Peter.

"Yeah,” Peter agrees happily, and drifts off to sleep. No regrets, no looking back.


End file.
